Optimism Is The New Black
by Ellie 5192
Summary: "Stepping out of the role of President will take more than a simple costume change. Standing by his bookshelf, her fingers tracing familiar spines as though committing them to memory, she could almost be a different person..." A/R canon friendly. Tag to Lay Down Your Burdens pt2. One shot.


Another phone fic. The train was delayed, so I typed this out while I was waiting.

Enjoy.

o-\-/-\-/-o

**Optimism is the new black.**

The first thing he notices is her clothes. Gone are her politician's suits and her practical pumps. Instead she's dressed in an olive shirt that's almost too big for her, sleeves rolled up, hair pinned haphazardly back, practical and sturdy boots on her feet. Her glasses remain, framing her face in that familiar way, and her smile is unchanged; warm, yet guarded. Stepping out of the role of President will take more than a simple costume change.  
Standing by his bookshelf, her fingers tracing familiar spines as though committing them to memory, she could almost be a different person, except for the way she acknowledges his presence. That is to say, she doesn't. She waits a beat; long enough that he knows she has heard him, and motionless enough that he knows she's choosing to continue her private moment despite the interruption.  
He leaves her be, as he usually does, and undoes his top button as he makes his way to his decanter; his universal sign that he's off duty for the time being.  
She turns then, and squares a look at him, her back straightening. Laura. All Laura. Her presidency was defined by her own strengths and abilities, not the other way around. He always admired that.

"All packed", he asks, gesturing to the water.

"And ready to go", she replies, wordlessly refusing.

"Your place nice?"

"As far as muddy tents go, it's actually not that bad", she says lightly, smiling. "I guess I've gotten used to a narrow cot, so no chance of missing my bed"

He chuckles at that, because it's both true and familiar, and because the look they share might be just the tiniest bit suggestive.  
She looks up at him from under wisps of her hair that have fallen free of the up-do, her expression sheepish but not necessarily embarrassed. She clasps her hands behind her back, flicking stray hair out of her eyes as she straightens, swaying gently on the spot. From anyone else the gesture would seem silly, almost girlish, but with her back braced with poise and her shoulders straight with confidence, she looks at she always does; relaxed, elegant and immovable.  
He watches her for a moment, their eyes meeting steadily. Few people can look him in the eye, and fewer still can hold it the way she does. It disarms him.  
Her hands move from behind her back to being clasped at her front, her smile shifting, her expression becoming a little more pensive, perhaps even a bit remorseful.

"I'm looking forward to being in a classroom again", she says softly, without breaking eye contact, and at least ten different futures stretch forth in his mind's eye, not one of them involving her being there and him being here and space being the distance between them.

"So this is it", he replies half question half statement.

And maybe he's a bit resentful and it's showing, but she quirks her head just-so, and he knows she can hear every nuance. _Will you be fine down there? Why are you leaving? Is that what you want? Will you fight Baltar when the time comes? Is this the end before we've begun? Can we begin anyway?__  
_She grins, eyes dancing, head tilting.

"Until you come and visit me", she replies with a coy smile, nodding.

It sounds like an answer to every one of his questions. He can't help but smile at that; all teeth and light, and when she mirrors him and almost barks out her laughter, he chuckles too.

"I'll miss you"

The look on his face could almost be a smile, but his eyes are too soft and his tone too quiet.

"Me too, Bill"

Her eyes turn sad as she takes one quick look about his living space. He sets his water down and approaches her, gently grasping her upper arms and rubbing them once, twice.

"Take care of yourself, Laura"

She meets his gaze, smiling again in that affectionate way.

"Don't be a stranger", she replies, her hands coming to rest on his chest, her meaning running deeper than the two of them, knowing virtually all of his family is at least considering a move to the surface.

He squeezes her arms, his face softening further, revealing the tenderness that he holds for her. She turns meek under that look, and the way it makes her feel so exposed.

And though she sees it clearly coming, she's still taken by surprise when he leans in and touches his lips to hers, barely a whisper but very much a promise.

Her eyes slip shut the way they did when he kissed her that first time, and she rejoices at the realisation that, yes, that day had meant more than a dying consolation. She's so very alive now.  
She opens her eyes to find him mere inches from her, staring, that warm toothy smile gracing his face once more. She grins at him.

"I'm happy for you", he says. "I'm happy you can once again do what you love doing"

"Thank you Bill", she whispers, her fingers flexing against his chest before she moves herself into the fold of his arms in order to embrace him. He returns her hug fiercely. He never could let go.

"Time to go", she says, pulling away and picking up the single bag of personal items she has to take with her. It sits so uncomfortably with him that the apparent sum of her life fits in a single tote, and he has to remind himself of the other bag she had asked to keep in his storage- clothes she doesn't have much use for now that she's no longer the President flouncing about on clean, sterile ships.

"Let me walk you", he offers, taking the bag from her grip.

She doesn't fight him, but instead takes his offered arm.

"Thank you", she whispers.

She slips into step beside him as they make their way out of his quarters and down towards the hanger bay. The halls are quieter than they normally are, and she indulges her desire to walk that little bit closer, lean a little more into him. She knows she'll live to regret letting Baltar win the election, and she's never been much of a fan of mud, and Gods what the dewy atmosphere is going to do to her already unruly hair. But she'll be with students again, and the path free of responsibility and death that is laid out before her is more welcoming than she'd like it to be. And as she feels his arm flex into her fingers and she follows his hesitant lead to the hanger bay, all she can feel is the sense of possibility.

She's determined to make the most of this. She gets the feeling that Bill is too.


End file.
